


Remnants of War

by Blu3sc0rpion



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Qui-Gon Jinn, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canonical Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sex, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Miscarriage, Non-Graphic Attempted Sexual Assault, Omega Obi-Wan Kenobi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Sexism, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu3sc0rpion/pseuds/Blu3sc0rpion
Summary: --Major Character Death Warning relates to Canonical Character Death only--After an isolated incident of drunken confession, Obi-wan finds out how his Master really feels about him, and the feelings are mutual.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 30
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

Obi-wan watches his legs hang limp from the exam table as his feet sway, toes curling and uncurling anxiously. He fusses with the sterile white paper hem of the med tunic he wears that does little to keep the icy draft from seeping past his skin and into his bones. It bleeds into him and he trembles, both horrified and sick to his stomach. 

The noxious chemical mixture the healers had given him certainly isn’t helping. It begins to waft off his skin, turning his sweet Omega scent rancid with what smells like death. He can see Jinn’s nose wrinkle, however involuntary a reaction it stings. He can barely scent his Master over its artificial bite and he longs for the comfort of the Alpha’s serenading redolence to flood his senses and drown out everything else. 

He doesn’t deserve the solace. He deserves this pain. 

“ _ Obi-wan, _ ” Qui-gon whispers softly, kneeling on his haunches below him. His mousy brown hair falls over his shoulders, strands of glittering silver woven through. He is a beautiful man, it’s not the first time Obi-wan has come to notice this. Agonizing in his gentleness, in his insufferable silence. His Master had always been a man of few words, making the ones he did speak heavier for their brevity. 

The things left unsaid betrayed him in his eyes, in his weary, tortured stare that seemed impervious to masks or facades. Obi-wan wishes his Master might spare him just this once, the tormenting depths of his own emotions. He can't endure them right now. It's enough to feel his signature lingering at a careful distance, unsure and afraid. In his Master’s eyes, he can see the unadulterated horror. It crushes him. 

Obi-wan chokes on his thoughts, biting back tears of self-pity, of shame and grief.  _ It’s my punishment,  _ he thinks to himself.  _ It’s what I deserve. Penance for weakness. _

Self-inflicted blame burns into his soul and he can’t disavow the thought. The weight of sin brands him and he fights against it for the sake of his own suffering, leaning into its torturous embrace. He doesn’t want to give in to the tears, the desperate ache in his chest and the sob lodged in his throat, but he feels it envelop him. He blinks them from his vision, struggling for a composure that was surely slipping away. 

He forces himself to meet Jinn’s stare. There's warmth beneath the fear- he’s seen it hundreds of times. It always stirred something inside him, something he thought one day he would be able to prune from his useless, wanting heart. 

In his youth he was foolish, not understanding it was only a mirror, a reflection of the same behind different, wiser eyes. It was maddening that they were  _ both  _ hopeless fools, holding onto it for so long, stubbornly refusing to weed it out but letting it linger. Both of them were too attached to let go and too willfully blind to acknowledge it would ever grow beyond the bounds they allotted it, which,  _ of course, _ it did. It twisted and wound itself, rooting so deep that now it feels like tearing it out would mean certain death. 

Right now Obi-wan feels like he’s dying. He wants to say something but he can’t remember how to speak, doesn’t know what he can possibly say. He’s failed his Master so spectacularly, not one, not two, but three times now. 

The first mistake he made was falling in love. The second was sheer, deliberate weakness, and the third… was a nightmare. 

Not even an hour had passed since it happened. His heart plummets as he rehashes the pain, barely able to stomach his Master’s presence. 

He felt it the instant it happened- when his body turned against the little life growing inside of him. There was so much blood it had been impossible to hide, and it happened far too quickly to attempt to find someplace private. It made for quite a spectacle. 

Obi-wan could feel the judging eyes scathing his skin as others looked on, appalled. There was a reason Omegas were rarely allowed to be trained for Knighthood and now he was just another reason- another Omega whore to count in some sexist statistic. 

Qui-gon is infamously rebellious against the Council and their politics and so many thought he’d taken an Omega Padawan out of sheer spite, though Obi-wan knows his Master is hardly so shallow. Jinn had taken him on because he thought it to be the will of the force, however romanticized a sentiment it was. Unfortunately, his Master is a rare breed. 

No- no one cared that his world was falling apart in the span of mere seconds. Supposed brothers and sisters looked at him with only disdain. He’d never felt such loss in his entire life, never felt so alone. 

“The healers tell me you  _ miscarried,  _ that you were  _ pregnant, _ ” Qui-gon says softly, his sturdy voice breaking under the weight of his fear. 

Obi-wan is rendered mute. All he can do is nod to confirm that yes he  _ was  _ pregnant- and now, he is not. 

So many Omegas dream of bearing children, building families. It’s a hardwired biological drive. Obi-wan never expected to feel that longing himself and the blockers were supposed to help curb that desire. Oh how things could change. 

For  _ weeks  _ he’d been ruminating, driving himself crazy trying to think of when and where to tell his Master. He was so terrified of disappointing him, of earning his contempt, even. The entire order would see Jinn as a failure- as if it wasn’t bad enough to have an Omega for a Padawan, a pregnant Omega was a sheer laughing stock of an apprentice. 

“Did you know?” Jinn asks carefully, his eyes open and transparent, full of heartache. 

Obi-wan’s lips curl around a sob as he nods again. Yes, he knew. Not a week after it happened, he knew. Tears stream down his face as he sucks an unsteady breath into his lungs. Jinn’s warm, calloused hand reaches to wipe them away, though they fall faster than he can manage to keep up with. Still Qui-gon tries, seeming terrified at the sight of them. 

“Were you going to tell me?” Qui-gon asks, his eyes growing serious as heartache twists at the thought of betrayal. 

The omission was exactly that and nothing short of. Obi-wan knows it, knows that others will look down on his Master for having such a deceitful Padawan. It lends no credit to Jinn’s skill or his own character. At this point everyone in the temple would be gossiping up a storm about the disgrace, about Qui-gon’s promiscuous Omega Padawan who got knocked up and didn't even bother to tell him about it. 

“I  _ wanted  _ to,” Obi-wan croaks and gasps, willing the words from his uncooperative lips. If he waited two more weeks his Master would have smelled it on him- everyone would have. Pregnancy changed an Omega’s scent. Obi-wan wanted to tell him, he just thought he had more time. He was wrong. 

Obi-wan wrings his hands in his lap, staring at them as they writhe. He can feel words linger in the air.  _ Questions.  _ Ones his Master doesn’t want to ask and Obi-wan doesn’t want to answer. He feels his heart slam in his chest, pulsing in his stomach and he thinks he’s going to be sick. 

Jinn reaches hesitantly for permission, settling his hands around Obi-wan’s and stilling their ceaseless fidgeting in a warm, comforting hold. His lips quiver and his heart bleeds in his chest, wanting to reject any kindness his Master has to offer. It only makes everything hurt worse. 

“Padawan, dearest, I need to know what happened,” Jinn says softly, his thumbs smoothing over the backs of his hands. It’s soothing, but he doesn’t  _ want  _ relief. 

“The healers tell me you haven’t said a word,” he nearly whispers, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. Fear burns in his aura, becoming harder and harder to hide, a seed of darkness in it’s churning core. 

“Please, Obi-wan,” Jinn begs, “I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you. I don’t know what I would do…” he trails off, fear relenting to the rage that replaces it. Obi-wan knows  _ exactly  _ what his Master would do if someone had indeed hurt him that way. It would be a bloody, violent affair. 

“I won’t think badly of you either way, I couldn’t possibly… Not ever…” Qui-gon vows, searching his teary, blinking gaze. Jinn oscillates between anger, fear and heartache and Obi-wan tries to muster the words, tries and fails and tries again. He can’t even shape his lips around a single syllable. 

Hands tighten around his own almost painfully and his Master’s stare grows desperate, glossing with tears. “ _ Please,  _ Obi-wan I am begging you. This silence is  _ killing me. _ ” 

Obi-wan feels his heart break. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his Master so afraid and it’s all his fault. Maybe it’s this drug coursing through his veins filling his nostrils with its putrid tang. Maybe that’s what is making words feel impossible. More likely it’s the thought of breaking his Master’s heart when he’s already so clearly distressed. Obi-wan doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it. 

Suddenly Jinn’s force signature no longer tries to maintain a careful distance. In one rush it smothers him, searching for a crack in his shields, looking for an answer. Any other time feeling his Master so tightly around him would be ecstasy, but right now it’s too invasive and Obi-wan pulls a sharp breath for the sudden overwhelming sensation. Immediately Jinn retreats, pulling back his hands and wringing them tightly. 

“I-I’m sorry. I’m being so kriffing  _ selfish-”  _ Jinn mutters to himself.

“I want you to feel like you can tell me anything, because you  _ can, _ ” Qui-gon says, reining himself in. 

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, Obi-wan can see Jinn leaning into meditation to calm himself and it’s mildly reassuring. He can’t keep this from him forever, even though he wants to.

“On Naboo, at the royal ball, you came back drunk, rolling on some spice you’d never even heard of before,” Obi-wan almost chuckles, his brows pinching against a fresh bout of tears. His Master was famous for being given to what some called disgraceful behavior, ‘not at all becoming of a Jedi Knight much less a  _ Master’,  _ as Mace had once so quaintly put it. 

“And…” Obi-wan says, his voice fading to a faint whisper. He never wanted it to be like this, prying memories with bloody fingers, leaving dirty smears over all the things he wanted to remember fondly. They were all muddied, all ruined now. 

“ _ No- _ ” Qui-gon groans, his voice hollow. Fear deepens and twists into a ghastly thing, ravaging the space between them. 

“You… you  _ confessed  _ to me and I- I… We…” Obi-wan stammers, the memory dying as he rips it out, still bleeding from his broken chest. 

He wasn’t allowed these things- not the wistful awe he felt as his Master poured over, unable to keep the secret of his feelings any longer. Not the vindication after so many years of silent wanting. The craving, the need to be closer, they were all drenched with sin and now blood to match. The payment for such true, sentient emotion was death and heartbreak. Perhaps allowed to others, but not him. Not to a Jedi. 

Obi-wan can feel his Master coil in on himself, feel the blinding shock in his aura. “I hurt you-” he says, empty, horrified. 

“No-” Obi-wan answers firmly, meeting his Master’s stricken gaze. If only he could remember. Maybe somewhere in his mind, he does. 

“We made  _ love _ .”

Those words stir a different kind of shock behind his Master’s eyes and Obi-wan’s face glows red, unable to look in those eyes any longer. 

“N-neither of us were in our right mind-” Obi-wan follows up quickly in a practical voice, sniffing away the tears and trying to shove all his feelings back in their little box. He tries to forget the image of what their children might have looked like, how wonderful Qui-gon would be to them. How loved they would be. 

“I didn’t know the blockers wouldn’t work because I-” he stops himself mid-sentence, horribly ashamed for what it means. 

“Well, I just didn’t know.” 

Moments pass, feeling vast, empty and terrifying. Obi-wan wants him to say something-  _ anything.  _ Silence is unbearable. 

“I don’t know what to say-”

“Then don’t say anything. It’s all over now, it doesn’t matter. We can just forget all about it,” Obi-wan rushes, itching for all of this to be a very, very distant memory. 

He wants to close his eyes and be able to rest- to forget everything Qui-gon said to him that night, to forget how it felt to be so loved, so wanted. He wants to forget the feeling of life growing inside of him and the void of death that swallows him now. He wants to start over, to go back and deny himself what he knew he should have all along. 

“I’m so sorry Obi-wan,” Jinn says, remorse heavy in his words, on his shoulders. Shame leeches out of him, palpable in the air between them. 

“I would have said something sooner but… I was afraid you would hate me,” Obi-wan admits, hating himself in his Master’s stead. “I was afraid you would be angry that I wasn’t stronger, that I didn’t say no… And then when I found out, I thought you would be ashamed of me.” 

“Galaxies will form and die before I could ever hate you, dearest,” Jinn says, his voice deep, kind and gentle. Obi-wan wants to lay his head against the man’s chest and listen to him ramble, just to feel the hum of his voice. It’s a thought pattern he will have to learn to keep in check before he rips it out entirely. He grieves knowing that it’s inevitable at this point for both of them.

“The only person I have to be ashamed of is  _ myself _ ,” Qui-gon admits. “And I am. No words can explain how sorry I am for failing you like this.”

“I just think it’s best to proceed as if none of this happened,” Obi-wan says, cold and methodical. It’s the only way he can keep from coming apart into tears again. 

There’s a pause, and conflict passes through his Master’s aura. “You know I would have never pressured you to go through with the pregnancy if you didn’t want to, right?” 

Obi-wan feels his lungs void of breath and his throat tightens against more pitiful tears. “I know, Master,” he whispers, withholding his most sinful confession. 

_ But I wanted to.  _

Obi-wan heaves, palming tears off his face. “It’s over now. I… I just need it to be over. No one else knows what happened- not the healers, not the Council. It can all just… go away,” Obi-wan says, his voice cracking with effort. As if it could ever really go away. He would always be just another promiscuous Omega to the Council now, no matter what they might say to his face. None of the Jedi would look at him the same, not for a very long time at least. He supposes it is fitting since he won’t be able to see himself the same, either.

“I am so sorry I put you through this, Obi-wan. I can only ask for your forgiveness, and I know I don’t deserve it.” 

“I don’t need to forgive, just to  _ forget _ ,” Obi-wan mumbles. He can tell the words sting but doesn’t apologize for them. Maybe he will be able to forgive when he learns to let go. He hasn’t learned that yet. 

“Okay,” Jinn agrees, hurt still audible in his voice. “We’ll both just forget.” 

“Thank you.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Obi-wan tells himself it’s simply a matter of discipline, though he has yet to believe it wholeheartedly when he assures himself of such. With years of dedicated practice, he’s conditioned his body to withstand combat, honed his reflexes to anticipate adversaries, true and mock alike. His prowess in saber combat is nearly unmatched by all other Padawans in the temple and as much as a Jedi is allowed pride, he feels a measure of it for his skill. Not only is he what some consider scrawny but being an Omega, there is a general opinion held by most that he always finds himself trying to prove wrong. More often than not, he does.

But surely, anything can be learned. Conditioned. Written language is all but foreign to younglings before they are taught, not to mention the tens of languages a Jedi is required to become proficient in for the sake of diplomacy. Obi-wan has learned eighteen during his twenty-four years in the Temple. Even his own name has been taught and learned- nothing about it innate though it feels inseparable from his sense of self. 

Yes, everything can be taught, learned, adopted. Beings are adaptable, surely. Life  _ had  _ to be in order to thrive the way it has, scattering among the stars to the furthest edges of space. Life in its simplest form is made to bend and twist, to evolve and become something new, always reinventing itself. He tries and fails to take inspiration from the thought of it, tries and fails and feels more disheartened than he was in the first place. 

This shouldn’t be so hard. He should be better than this but he isn’t, and it’s why he’s in this predicament to begin with. It is without a doubt, the most difficult task he’s ever been put up against in his life. He can’t tell if he’s actually trying, or just needlessly suffering. At some point he imagines it will get easier, as most things tend to become, but the pain and wanting has yet to relent even in the slightest. He can’t seem to help it, and that’s the problem. 

It’s a practice of mental discipline- looking at his Master without seeing him in ways he shouldn’t. Without seeing a future they might have shared that will certainly never be. So far he’s been the ultimate failure, unable to successfully complete that task even once. Instead, he’s in utter torment every time he looks in Jinn’s eyes. 

Despite his head being an aggravating, tangled mess of emotions and self-damning thoughts, he carries on. There’s nothing else for him  _ to  _ do. Any momentum is better than none at all and he feels as if he won’t be able to go on if he stops for even a second. Needless to say, Meditation has not been a friend to him as of late. 

“Would you like some more tea, Master?” Obi-wan asks, pleasantly neutral, as if he isn’t dying inside. 

He’s busy at work, cleaning up the small kitchenette their apartment is equipped with. Performing menial tasks has been the only escape so far, so he’s made breakfast for the both of them every morning the entire week. Jinn hasn’t said a word about it, however uncustomary it is for his Padawan to be so habitually domestic. Obi-wan isn’t daft enough to believe his Master hasn’t noticed a shift in his routines, it’s too drastic a change to go unnoticed. He knows he's simply being tolerated- longer for the guilt his Master undoubtedly feels but he lets it fall from awareness, losing himself in purposeful monotony. 

After breakfast and dishes, Katas and practice. He spends his free hours helping with smaller tasks around the Temple, such as cataloging new data for Master Jo-Costa in the library or tending and pruning the garden in the room of a thousand fountains. After a long day of what amounts to twiddling his thumbs he goes back to their apartment- only after he’s sure Qui-gon has retired to his own quarters. Next, he sanitizes every surface of the living space, avoiding Jinn’s room like the plague. 

If he hasn’t tired himself out quite yet he might scrub the grout between the tile of the fresher floor, or re-fold his laundry and re-make his bed. He keeps himself busy to the point of total exhaustion, until he has no choice but to give in to sleep, but only for a few hours. Then he wakes up and does it all over again. 

Obi-wan’s hand lingers near the kettle, waiting for his Master’s reply. Frustrated by the lack of response Obi-wan turns to look at Jinn who sits at the table, datapad in hand. Instead of glued to the screen his eyes are fixed on him. The contemplative expression he sees there elicits an instantaneous loathing beyond what he can reasonably justify. He’s learned well by this point that emotions do not exist within the realm of logic, and they can not be reasoned with. At least not the one he holds for _him._

Obi-wan turns back to his work, emptying the kettle and twisting the soapy dishrag under the faucet before meticulously cleaning every inch of the tea-stained ceramic pot. Little fault lines ran through the thing. It’s older than he is, handed down from Jinn’s Master and his Grand Master before him. Obi-wan wants to throw it, watch it break into bits and pieces on the ground below him. The idea in itself is cathartic and he feels his heart quicken, feels a rush of tears lodged painfully in his throat. He swallows against it, carefully rinsing the pot and hanging it to dry delicately, just as he always has. 

He hates living like this, wanting all the things he can never have. Feeling what he feels and denying it is one of the most unbearable things he’s ever endured in his life. He wonders if it’s even possible for things to go back to the way they were- he is beginning to doubt it. 

There were some points in life where there was no going back, where nothing could ever be the same. Moments of life, moments of death. Everything ends, eventually. There’s a vague dread because he knows that they’ve passed one of those points, and nothing was ever going to be the same. The way he feels isn’t going to change. His own death will be the only thing strong enough to take these emotions from him. It is one of the most exhilarating and debilitating realizations he’s ever had. 

Some might deem it childish but he is not a child, and this is no youthful crush or infatuation. Obi-wan is well into adulthood and perfectly aware of his own nature, his own wants and needs. This  _ feeling-  _ calling it that seems to demean what it really is to him but he knows it’s a part of him and he doesn’t know how to be without it. He doesn’t know how to want something else. All he knows is that he can’t keep on going on like  _ this.  _ Living in silence with too many unspoken words cluttering the air, making it difficult to breathe or even see straight. 

“Obi-wan,” Jinn says softly, words imbued with unintentional warmth that feels like a knife in his gut. 

“You’ve been keeping yourself rather busy.” 

“As one should,” Obi-wan replies staunchly, wringing out soap from the rag, over and over again. 

“I thought allowing you to go on like this would be…  _ therapeutic  _ but your distress has only worsened with each passing day.” 

Obi-wan drops the washcloth and grips the sink’s edge, examining the droplets of water beaded in the basin as if there were something important to learn from them. 

“I’m not proud, Obi-wan. I’ve come to hate myself for doing this to you. I know this is all my fault, but as your Master I cannot stand by and let you descend into this… this spiral of perpetual  _ anguish _ .”

Obi-wan hears the chair slide as his Master rises, closing the distance between them. The radiant heat as Jinn stands too close rips at every unhealed wound, digs nails into the festering, insatiable needs that were unearthed the moment Jinn kissed him, when Obi-wan realized he was never alone in his silent adoration that always wanted to become something more. 

“Don’t try to tell me that’s not what this is- it’s  _ exactly  _ what this is. Just tell me what to do, Obi-wan. Tell me and I’ll do it. I just want to see you  _ smile again. _ ” 

Jinn’s words are laden with grief. Obi-wan can feel his hands begin to tremble, his nerves pulled so tightly they might snap. Of course his Master would have that effect on him. His attachment has only gotten worse since he’s tried to rip it out, digging its roots deeper for every attempt to dislodge it. If Jinn would offer him anything Obi-wan wants nothing more or less than a child of their own, to tell the Council to kriff off and raise a family together despite them all. 

Of course he knows better than to ask for any of those things.

“I don’t think that there is anything you can do, Master,” Obi-wan says slowly, steadily, holding onto the edge of the sink as if he might fall were he to loosen his grip. 

“You closed yourself off from me, I understand why. I won’t make you explain yourself.” Jinn laments softly. Obi-wan can feel the warmth of his breath against his face. He’s still too close, and if Obi-wan turns to look at him he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself back, and he knows Qui-gon’s inhibitions are thin, more so than his own. 

“I can’t pretend like this isn’t killing me, just like it’s killing you.” 

Obi-wan doesn’t dare look but turns his head just a fraction. “You really don’t remember anything, do you? Nothing at all,” he whispers shakily, his eyes lidded, strained with effort to keep his gaze from the man he wants so badly, standing only inches away from him. It’s torture, it always is but this is so much worse.

“I remember…  _ What  _ I remember feels like a dream,” Jinn confesses. “I remember... kissing, you. Kriff, saying it sounds so obscene,” he mutters. 

Obi-wan’s heart skips a beat, hopeful beyond all will and reason, aching and writhing at the same time. “I had no idea it became anything more than that, my senses were… I wasn’t myself.” 

“It’s difficult to be so close to you, Master, because I  _ can’t  _ forget-” he breathes out, rapidly batting away tears from his eyes. All the things he’s tried to release, the things he can’t help but feel are twisted, jagged, razor sharp truths- cutting into him, taunting him with what would never be.

“All I can think about when I’m around you are all the things a Jedi isn’t allowed to have- love, family, something-  _ someone  _ I can call mine without someone telling me I can’t- Without telling me it’s against the code, or a pathway to the  _ dark _ ,” he cries, all of it pouring out of him faster than he can think about what he’s saying. It’s sinful, every single admission is a stain on his character. To say them is to give in to the hold they have over him, but he can’t deny them any longer. 

“ _ Padawan _ -”

“No-” Obi-wan cuts him off, mustering strength to turn and face him. “This Code, this  _ Order  _ feels wrong. I may be your Padawan but I’m no youngling-I know what I feel and I know I can’t change it.”

“Obi-wan you are still young enough to not fully grasp the fact that feelings are transient. They  _ will  _ change, fade, become forgotten. Both of us will come to forget about all of this in time,” Qui-gon assures. 

The dire authenticity in Jinn’s voice strikes Obi-wan’s core and shakes him. He feels like he’s falling, spiraling into an endless abyss. Grief like gravity pulls him, crushes him, steals the air from his lungs and all he’s capable of is tears. It’s blasphemy- desecrating the most sacred thing he’s ever felt in his life. Jinn would cast it aside so easily, deem him too young to understand. 

“You must see you are capable of letting go if you allow it,” Jinn says earnestly, that damn warmth still rife in his deceitful eyes. Obi-wan wonders if his Master believes it. If he does, he can’t possibly feel anything close to what Obi-wan feels for him, and it hurts badly. To Qui-gon he’s just one love in a series of many, he’s sure. Nothing so special at all, just  _ inconvenient.  _

He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so livid. He would be cowering in his own humiliation. It will come soon, he knows it will and it will crush him more than anything else ever has. 

Obi-wan glowers, almost snarling, “I think it’s better for me to continue my training under another Master.” 

“We can get past this, just give it time-” Jinn fumbles, almost panicked. Any other Master would have agreed with him, would have even suggested it themselves or mandated it. It almost feels endearing that Jinn is so attached he can’t reach objectivity. Still, it is obvious that his Master’s feelings paled in comparison to his own, and that cruel reality makes everything taste bitter.

“No,  _ Qui-gon _ ,” he mumbles weakly, red faced from tears. “If you can let go,  _ let go,  _ but it’s clear to me now that our feelings for each other differ greatly.” 

Shame starts to eclipse him. He can’t say anymore without giving away just how desperately in love he is. There’s no way back, no way out. After all those sweet little lies his Master whispered to him, saturated with whiskey and spice, he  _ believed  _ them. He’d been gullible enough to swallow every single one of them without question. Maybe he's still a child after all.

“Oh, Padawan,” Jinn mourns softly, reaching a hesitant hand to stroke his face, Obi-wan can’t find it in himself to pull away. Instead he feels Jinn’s hand wipe away more tears, a rough thumb smoothing over his sodden cheek. He’s in utter torment, every touch is poison that will make everything that much harder after the fact. 

“Please, don’t,” Obi-wan whispers, cinching his eyes closed.

The hand jerks away and Obi-wan shudders, bleeding the screaming desire from his broken heart.

“Obi-wan, I’m so sorry, I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?” Jinn murmurs, grief surging around him. 

He wipes his eyes again, dries his cheeks. He doesn’t have the ability to deal with Qui-gon’s guilt, he can barely handle his own as it churns in his stomach, threatening to forcibly purge its contents. 

“I… I’m late for practice. I have to go,” Obi-wan mumbles, rushing past Jinn and out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

The force is many things. Sometimes, it even possesses a sense of humor. There are times when Obi-wan finds himself in appreciation of its design, and times when it brings him contempt. Today it feels as if the very will of the force is purposefully set against him and he is _not_ amused. His feet wander the Temple halls as he tries to escape its notice while his mind races, passively cursing the universe for his misfortune. 

Practice is canceled because of emergency maintenance, effectively closing every dojo in the temple. He can’t stand to be in the same apartment as Jinn so going back home to do Katas is not an option. He tried to go to the library to assist Master Nu, but all it took was one look for her to send him on his way.

“I don’t have any work for you today, Obi-wan,” she said casually, peering at him over the mountain of holofiles on her desk that was so massive, they were clattering to the floor every time she sifted through them. 

“Well then what’s all this?” Obi-wan scoffed, eyeing the mess of records that would take days to sort through on her own. 

Her eyes shot up, sharp as needles, piercing straight through him. “This is none of your concern, Padawan. And since you have no business here, no _loitering._ It’s your day off.” 

Obi-wan knew better than to protest further. Regardless of what gave him away- the teary face, the grief rolling in swells through his aura, it didn’t matter. Master Nu is the most motherly, nurturing Master the Order possesses. Simultaneously, she is the Temple’s most notorious, undisputed hardass, even making Mace look tame in comparison. She is wise far beyond her weathered years so chances were even if he had managed to pull himself together in a more convincing fashion, she still would have seen right through him, because he isn’t okay- no matter what ill-fitting mask he tries to put on. 

The room of a thousand fountains is occupied, teeming to the brim with bureaucrats, politicians, and holonews reporters. The last thing he needs is for his ugly, tear-stained mug to be caught in the background of some holonet report. It is evident that the odds are not in his favor today, and the likelihood of that happening or worse makes him steer a wide path around the room entirely. 

With nothing else to do he wanders aimlessly, counting down the minutes till Jinn would retire to his quarters. Heaving a sigh Obi-wan glances down at his wrist to check the time. 

It isn’t even noon yet. He has the entire day to burn before he can even think about going back home. 

_Home._

The word echoes in his mind bitterly. Home is a place that is feeling less welcoming with each passing day. He resents what it has become, a dreaded place where no comfort waits for him, only more guilt and endless grief. He isn’t sure there will come a day where he isn’t in agony over what he’s lost.

He doesn’t know the true scope of what it is that’s been taken from him, but it feels like everything. Of course, he knows that can’t be true, but that doesn’t change the way it feels. None of it was ever meant for him, not for a Padawan, not for a Jedi. He wishes his heart could come to understand that but is starting to doubt it ever will. 

To his heart, home will always be something that is unattainable, and calling their little flat a _home_ feels like a lie. At one time that apartment, their life just as it is, was all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.

But then, everything changed. 

“Lost, little Omega?” A voice chides. Obi-wan recognizes its owner before his eyes snap up, seeing the predictably smug face of the one it belongs to stare back at him. 

Obi-wan rolls his eyes. Of course today of all days, Chun would choose to pick a fight with him. He has no patience for it. 

“Kriff _off,_ ” he grumbles. No, the force will do him no favors today. It feels like it is doing it’s best to put every obstacle in his path rather than give a single kindness. Obi-wan glances at his com again, and numbers flash back at him- taunting him. He wants to tear it off his wrist and stomp the thing into the floor.

Just two minutes before noon. It still wasn’t even kriffing _noon_ yet. 

“Aw, what’s wrong? You’ve been pacing the halls for hours now. I’m just concerned,” Bruck says wryly, an impish smile pulling at his lips. Obi-wan wants to slap the look right off his face.

Hostility brews in the air around them, spiced and bitter on Chun’s skin and breath. While Obi-wan is keeping his temper as best he can despite the day he’s had, which clearly is only going to get worse, restraint has never been one of Bruck’s favorable attributes and obviously still isn’t. The Alpha has always been an insufferable bully, and with each sparring match lost to Obi-wan his resentment has only grown deeper. By now Obi-wan has lost count of the matches he’s won between them but he’s almost positive Chun has not. 

The boy’s ego is fragile, his behavior and low-blows predictable as his rotten attitude. Even at a glance anyone can see that today is not Obi-wan’s best day. His eyes are still reddened and likely will be until the next morning so this is the perfect time for Chun to pick a fight, and it is completely in his nature to do so. He’s more beast than man, as self-centric as they come. Obi-wan wonders how many days he’s been watching him, waiting to find him at his lowest moment? Or perhaps this is all just a galactic coin toss that he’d lost in the worst way, and Chun is just the next thing in the list of undesirable obstacles he would have to surmount because of it.

Obi-wan chooses to ignore him, walking straight past him but the Alpha intercepts his path, jabbing an elbow into his chest and shoving him back a few paces. He’d expected as much. Predictable. Pointless. 

“Watch where you’re walking _Omega,_ ” Chun sneers. 

Obi-wan stares at him blankly, just barely keeping himself from throwing a right-hook and putting him on the ground. He’s sure Chun will earn that or _worse_ in a manner of seconds if he just waits long enough, though hopefully, he won’t have to. 

Seemingly placated by earning his silent attention Bruck flashes a predatory smile. Anyone who didn’t know him might mistake him for being handsome but Obi-wan knows he’s ugly, through and through. His fair, porcelain skin and ice-blue eyes can’t fool him. And it doesn’t fool many, for long. 

“You know, you’ve been quite the talk of the Temple- little whore that you are,” his grin widens, those eyes black, empty holes. 

Oh, yes. He is well on his way to earning a bloody lip, a black eye or two if he keeps talking. He’s _already_ earned it but Obi-wan grits his teeth, waiting, knowing that getting into a fight will only degrade him in the eyes of the Council, with whom he already stands on shaky ground. 

“Omegas aren’t meant to be Jedi. They’re all just _whores,_ ” Chun laughs. “And either wanted it or you didn’t- it doesn’t matter. If you did, it just means you’re exactly what everyone knows you are. And if you didn’t, well, clearly that means you’re not strong enough to be a Knight. That would mean you don’t even deserve to be called _Padawan,”_ he glares, cocking his head and taking a step forward. 

Obi-wan can smell the Alpha’s intent as it rises to the surface, shading the bitter spiced scent with something putrid. He’s scented it before, in dark alleys and seedy bars of the underworld. Jinn taught him what it meant but Obi-wan never needed to be told what it was. It was intrinsic knowledge any Omega possessed that warned of a very specific kind of danger.

He doesn’t bother to look around. He knows there aren’t any Jedi close, aside from two of Bruck’s minions that have begun to flank him from either side. 

Obi-wan’s lips twist into a frown and he snarls, baring his teeth. He’s surprised, though he knows he shouldn’t be. He should have anticipated this, and knowing that both enrages him and makes him sick to his stomach. 

“I’ve been wondering which it was. A prude little bookworm like you breaking the code like that, it’s hard to picture. But, then again, what do I know? I’m intrigued. Helplessly curious. Can you blame me?” Bruck chuckles and Obi-wan nearly expects to see amber in his empty, frigid stare. 

Obi-wan’s eyes sting with angry tears and he swallows against them. He would be laughing if he wasn’t so overcome with debilitating grief. He doesn’t feel betrayed, Chun has never been someone close enough to garner the ability to betray him, It’s just hard to keep his defenses up when he’s already so broken down. His shields are in complete and total disarray. 

“What, you don’t think you can take me yourself?” Obi-wan taunts. “Afraid to get bested by an Omega again?” 

“You are a total failure, don’t you get that? It would be sad if watching you fall wasn’t so damn entertaining. You fail as a Jedi _and_ an Omega.” Chun explains, his voice smooth as he savors every word. “Can’t keep your legs closed, can’t keep pups once you’ve spread them- _tisk-_ You really only have one use, then.” 

Obi-wan tries to ignore the nauseatingly misogynistic remark but it sinks in past his defenses, just like it was meant to. He’s shaking with rage, his hands in white-knuckled fists trembling at his sides. 

“Always resorting to the lowest hanging fruit. You’re predictable as ever-” Obi-wan laughs, uncomfortably close to sobbing. 

“You won’t be laughing for long, Kenobi,” Bruck growls, both brutes grabbing either arm as the blonde devil lunges forward. The scent of three Alphas set to rut is instinctively frightening to any Omega, but Obi-wan is unmoved by it. His stomach turns to lead- not out of fear but repulsion. 

Chun grabs his jaw, wrenching his neck up to look him in the face. He’s in the throes of blind rage, Obi-wan can see it glitter in the blacks of his eyes. “You’ll be begging for mercy long before I'm done with you,” he growls. 

A sneer of disgust is all that prefaces action before Obi-wan slams his forehead against Chuns, sending him staggering back a few paces. Right after he coils tendrils of force around the two brutes, knocking their skulls against each other as hard as he can, sending them crashing to the floor. He’s bit his tongue, he realizes, and blood fills his mouth, trickling down his chin and painting his teeth as he smiles, tears trailing down his face and arms open wide as Chun takes another step back. 

“Come on!” Obi-wan cries, mad with grief, sadness, and anger as Bruck stumbles backward, watching his prey become the predator, too dazed to do anything about it.

“It’s too easy-” Obi-wan snarls, spitting a blood laced wad of spit at his feet. He shoves Chun again hard. Still thoroughly concussed, the Alpha tumbles to the ground. It’s not a fair fight, he supposes. For all the posturing and talk Chun never has been a challenge in any respect. He is transparent to his emotions, and they are as hulking and graceless as they are barbaric. Chun is just a slave to them, and anyone so heedless carries obvious weaknesses. For Chun, pride is his most fatal flaw. 

For Obi-wan, shame is his. No matter how he analyzes or rationalizes what just happened, he isn’t going to find comfort. It’s impossible to feel any respite at all. Grief crushes him, closing a fist around his heart and somehow this all just feels like some sort of joke and he’s the sorry punchline.

“Three against one _little Omega_ and you still lose,” he laughs, wiping tears on the cuff of his tunic.

Commotion echos down the hall as Masters and Padawans flock towards them. They make for a bloody spectacle, three Jedi collapsed on the ground and him standing as victor. More accurately, as others will undoubtedly see it, standing _at fault._

Obi-wan hadn’t guessed just how detrimentally accurate a prediction that was. 

Chun and his two mindless brutes were immediately rushed to the healing halls while Mace hauled Obi-wan up to the council chamber, a nasty scowl painted on his face that seemed so intense he feared it might get stuck there indelibly. The Korun Master paces the room now, prodding him for the same details, over and over, perhaps expecting to hear something other than what he has to offer. 

He is beginning to tire of spitting out the same words, over and over. His own wounds have yet to be thoroughly tended to and his mouth is still bleeding. He has a _splitting_ headache. Despite protecting himself with force while head-butting Chun he is feeling a little concussed himself. Each time he recites the horrid things Bruck said to him, the detailed description of the putrid tang that filled the air as his intent was made painfully obvious, he feels sicker and sicker. 

Mace isn’t having any of it, not his reasoning, not his pleas to be excused to the healing halls himself. Jedi are sworn against them but Obi-wan swears this man must harbor a grudge, too. He never agreed when Qui-gon took him as a Padawan. There were many that dissented but none quite so loud as Master Windu. All for the sin of being born an Omega, he muses silently, deepening the frown that hangs on his face. 

“Obi-wan, you cannot dismiss the fact that your three- _attackers-_ sustained concussions and skull fractures while your only injuries are a bitten tongue and what the healers have deemed, a _slight_ contusion on your forehead,” he says, measured and biting, each word dripping with accusation. 

“I don’t know Master, I don’t feel too well. I think I might be concussed, too,” Obi-wan moans, clutching his stomach as it churns angrily. 

“Don’t change the subject to try and absolve yourself of guilt,” Mace snaps bitterly. 

“What should I have done, then? Just let them have their way? Much less egregious than self-defense _,_ ” Obi-wan shoots back, his eyes narrowed with scorn.

He’s past the point of tears. He’s exhausted- all he can feel is the acute emotional and mental exhaustion that’s made worse by the growing discomfort and taste of blood that won’t go away. Passively he’s still trying to make sense of the joke. Or maybe it isn’t a joke at all but the force truly hates him for his failures. 

Mace sighs, seeming defeated in his disapproval. “It’s difficult to justify this as self-defense. This show of force is akin to darkness, Obi-wan, I know you’ve been having a difficult time-” he says, his tone not softening so much as becoming injurious.

Before Windu has a chance to spew more heinously flawed reasoning the doors to the chamber fly open. Obi-wan doesn’t think he’s ever seen his Master so furious- his signature is ablaze with righteous anger, as hot as ten thousand suns combined. Mace’s surprise is obvious and gratifying, especially as Yoda is seen hobbling in on Jinn’s heels. For the first time in too long Obi-wan sees Qui-gon and feels utter relief. 

“How _dare_ you!” Jinn shouts, pointing a finger in Mace’s face who is still reeling in shock as Yoda abides silently, endorsing his Master’s rage. 

“I will not have you interrogating _my_ Padawan as if he’s at fault. What is _wrong_ with you?!” Jinn’s voice booms, echoing off the tall rounded ceiling.

“You should have notified me _immediately._ Obi-wan should be in the healing halls, not here being questioned and reprimanded.” 

Jinn’s furious stare breaks off and falls to Obi-wan. He can feel his Master fill their bond, needing confirmation that he’s okay. Obi-wan hasn’t allowed himself in that space since the miscarriage, he needed the time to heal and figure himself out. He hasn’t quite done either of those things but he relents his shields to his Jinn and meets him there, brushing against his consciousness in reassurance. 

_Yes, I’m alright._ Even though he really isn’t, he’s _better_ now that Qui-gon is here. 

Obi-wan feels his Master’s hands wanting to hold him and check for bruises and broken bones, wanting to wring the life out of Chun for even thinking to lay a hand on him. Every Master has a duty to defend and protect their Padawan, though this is more than that and Obi-wan knows it. They are not permitted to mark or be marked, to claim or be claimed, neither openly or in private. Still, the root of Qui-gon’s anger is instinctual and the fact is, Obi-wan isn’t just Jinn’s Padawan, but his _Omega._

That knowledge sends a shiver down Obi-wan’s spine that is only drowned out by nausea that is worsening by the second. 

“Get a healer up here at _once,_ ” Qui-gon orders. Mace, wilted from his previous vigor, still doesn’t reach for his com. 

“Don’t you think you are overreacting, Master Jinn?” Windu says snidely.

“I am beginning to feel quite sick, Master,” Obi-wan says meekly, wondering if he looks as drained as he feels. 

“This isn’t over- _three_ other Padawans have sustained significant injuries due to Padawan Kenobi’s excessive use of force-” 

“Saw footage of the incident, we did. React, Obi-wan did not, until no other choice, he had.” Yoda says, his voice steady, sure, and thoughtful.

“Troubling, the intentions of Bruck Chun and his friends are.”

“I think it’s even more _troubling_ that three Padawans can conspire and attempt to _rape_ someone and be treated kinder than the one they were plotting to assault!” Jinn shouts louder, and Obi-wan cringes. He knows others are flocked outside the Council Chamber doors, desperate for any juicy tidbits that will run the rumor mill for the next several weeks. He will be glad when those rumors no longer have to do with him. 

“I never said that Chun and his friends aren’t in trouble-” Mace back-pedals. 

“You never said they _were,_ either,” Obi-wan says, his tear-sore eyes stinging again as he wipes at them. 

“Come on, Obi-wan, we’re leaving. I’m sure Master Yoda and Mace have some things to _discuss_ ,” Jinn all but snarls. 

Obi-wan feels Jinn tangle his signature into his own through their bond and he allows it, merging into him more than willingly as they briskly stride from the chamber and through the gaggle of beings trying to act as if they weren’t just shamelessly eavesdropping only seconds ago. 

“Ignore them,” Qui-gon murmurs, his glare cutting through the sparse crowd of beings. “Just people with nothing else _better_ to do,” he sneers, speaking loudly for the benefit of the nosy onlookers. 

Obi-wan swallows and stares at his feet as they walk, his face bright red, feeling faint. He allows himself to tangle deeper into Qui-gon through their bond, trying to escape this place by seeking refuge in the one place he knows he shouldn’t. In that place, he doesn’t have to be strong anymore and he gives in to the ache inside him that makes it feel like he’s dying. 

Jinn pulls him close, taking him under the wing of his cloak and Obi-wan doesn’t protest. For once he stops fighting the insatiable urge to be closer and leans into it, taking solace and basking in its glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry/not sorry for making Mace literally the worst character ever XD  
> <3  
> And Chun was always a dick anyways so I have no regrets! XD


	4. Chapter 4

Obi-wan remembers the feeling of Jinn’s fingers slipping up underneath the hem of his sleep tunic and the instantaneous rush of warmth that stirred in his belly. His Master’s breath was hot on his skin, his mouth warm from the whiskey that coursed through his veins, bitter, yet sweet on his tongue when he kissed him. 

That first taste made him weak. A Jedi was supposed to control their body and mind at all times. Obi-wan had trained hard his whole life to do just that but  _ this  _ sent the delicate balance of thoughts and emotions right off the rails. At that moment all he could think about was how much he wanted more, and how that want was quickly becoming a rapacious need. He trembled at the thought of it. 

“I don’t think this is wise, Master,” Obi-wan protested weakly. Barely touched, every inch of his skin was alive and desperate. A deep ache grew between his thighs, pulsing as Jinn’s hand mapped over his stomach and flank.

There were walls inside him, as there were in all Jedi. Thick, sturdy walls comprised of self-control and emotional discipline built painstakingly, brick by brick, contrary to all instinct and sentient nature. He felt his Master rush straight past those defenses, as if they never even existed. All it took was one kiss, a simple touch. 

Because no one had ever touched him before. Not quite like this. 

Jinn answered his feeble attempt of a warning with a kiss, stealing a whimper as his Master’s lips crushed against his own. There was nothing careful, nothing bated about the way Qui-gon kissed him. Obi-wan could feel the chemical induced frenzy, the rancorous desperation in every inch of his Master’s tongue as it explored the warm hollow of his mouth, in the hand that tangled in his hair, tugging on his braid- not hard but not so gentle, either. 

Starved for breath Qui-gon pulled back, heaving. Obi-wan was near breathless, almost seeing stars for the lack of oxygen. Perhaps it was just nerves, or was the spice that skewed his Master’s judgment catching? Qui-gon felt like a drug, pushing sweaty tremors through his bones. Just his scent alone was intoxicating. It filled the room, he could smell it mixing with his own gentle scent that promised the Alpha willing obedience, were he to ordain it. 

“You make it difficult to be wise, Padawan,” Qui-gon rasped low, his words strung together noting his altered state. His lips were still close, brushing sloppily against his own as he spoke. Obi-wan loved the way his beard ticked against his skin and leaned into it. 

He was totally helpless to the man’s undivided attention, defenseless to his whims. He’d spent years lingering in his Master’s shadow, second-guessing himself constantly against his expectations. Jinn was a difficult man to read, keeping most of his thoughts to himself. Obi-wan found himself still reeling in shock, nearly disbelieving that his own long hidden feelings could actually be mutual. 

It had to have been the spice, the alcohol, the mixture of the two. Qui-gon hadn’t been sure of what it was the Senator had given him, though he’d been assured it wasn’t harmful. Apparently that had been enough to coax Jinn into trying it himself. It must have been some sort of aphrodisiac, driving him past the point of rationality. Qui-gon didn’t want  _ him, he _ just wanted  _ someone,  _ a warm body to tangle into and rut.

Even if that were the case, Obi-wan found, he didn’t mind.

He shouldn’t have given in, he should have refused him right then and there but instead, he was torn between another pathetic whimper and a string of Jedi platitudes that would surely have ruined the moment had he reached for them. Instead, he settled for something between the two. 

“ _ Drink  _ and  _ spice  _ make it difficult to be wise,” Obi-wan stipulated, making a conscious effort to keep his mouth from gravitating towards his Master’s lips again. 

A lifetime of Jedi teachings told him he would come to regret this, that both of them would. Right now he knows that to be true but in that moment that knowledge was drowned out by something much more intrinsic, needy, and long deprived. It told him to give in to the Alpha that he’d been lusting after for longer than he would ever admit to. 

“No,” Jinn insisted, his eyes hard and serious despite their lulled haze. Obi-wan’s heart caught in his throat. 

“Drink and spice reduce beings down to what they really are. There are no angry drunks, only angry people stripped past their inhibitions-” Jinn insisted, his words heavy and enunciated with effort, denoting his sincerity. 

“Loving you like this makes it difficult to be wise Obi-wan,” he whispered, his eyes brimming with more passion than he could stand. Jinn’s hand lingered, brushing up and down his side again feeling so insatiably warm and wanting. 

It was impossible to be unaffected. A hushed moan caught in his throat as his body shivered, feeling the expanse of his Master’s hand against his skin.

It wasn’t unusual for Padawans to develop crushes on their Masters but it was more precarious when that Padawan was an Omega with an Alpha for a Master- more  _ complicated _ . Obi-wan had tried his best to hide his feelings, to disregard them as nothing more than an inconvenient phase that skewed his base of objectivity. That was the Jedi way to go about it, though he found it increasingly difficult to cling to such truisms as time went on- as his crush became something else, something more than he could reasonably justify as youthful, hormone-driven folly. 

It must have been obvious as his feelings grew. He figured Jinn simply tolerated him in silence. It wasn’t as if Obi-wan had ever been so bold as to act on his feelings, aside from lingering in the man’s embrace too long, or savoring the feeling of standing close to him with more focus than he should have allotted it. 

Then there were the glances that turned into sinful, longing stares that sometimes stirred so much inside him, he would be forced to remove himself from the room so he could relieve himself of those ribald desires. Of course, as he did it became harder not to picture Jinn there touching him instead of his own hasteful, unpracticed hand. He never dreamed it would actually become a reality, but at that moment he was dangerously close to it. 

He could feel Qui-gon’s intentions pressing in on him; how much he yearned to explore him in ways they both knew were wrong. He knew the strength of his own will was fading.

But how could it be wrong? He thought. The way his Master’s hand wandered over the smooth of his stomach, it was hard to imagine anything so wonderful actually being of harm. He wanted to reach out and touch Jinn, too. Feel his hard muscles and the scars that littered his beautiful skin. He wanted to taste them, chart out every single one of them. His eyes were fixed on one right against his collar bone, spanning up the side of his neck behind his ear.

The weight of his desires became too heavy, too burdensome to fend off against. His Master’s touch, the taste of his lips still fresh on his own, the things he felt raging inside both of them, wanting to be unleashed on the other. He felt the last of his restraint slip away from him and he found, he relented it gladly. He didn’t want to resist. 

Obi-wan lunged forward and pressed a kiss onto his Master’s mouth that was greedily accepted. He felt a rush of power, dangerous and heady as his hands dared to reach out and touch, shakily wandering over the firm breadth of Qui-gon’s shoulders. 

So  _ this  _ is what it felt like to feel and act, so rare for a Jedi to ever allow themselves such a thing. It felt  _ wonderful.  _ A nervous spark tickled in his belly for how much wider and stronger those shoulders were compared to his own, lean frame.

All of it was new, and his body was shaking with effort just trying to make sense of it all. It felt like a fever dream that was too delicious, too hedonistic to be real. It feels that way as he recalls it, his eyes glazed over with his heart dull and aching for how simple it all felt in that moment.

“I love you, Master,” Obi-wan breathed, feeling his heart wrench around such a simple truth before crushing another more fervent, wanting kiss against the man’s lips. His eyes filled with warm, stinging tears. He’d never felt so joyful, the warmth and light of it filled every cell of his body till he was bursting with it. 

“I love you,  _ I love you, _ ” he whispered, trembling. The words rushed out across their bond, jumbling and lodging in his throat, rendering him mute. His Master stole every whisper, every incantation stuttered from his aching, wanting heart while his aura tangled and twisted up into his own till they were one, indistinguishable mass. 

They held and searched each other with frantic, desperate hands. Despite being so near for so long Obi-wan felt starved for his Master, and he could feel that same anguish inside Jinn, searching for solace inside him. The idea that his Master just wanted a warm body against him dissolved as the depth of his real feelings washed over him, torrential and overwhelming as they flooded their bond. He’d never felt such intensity from him before. Not in his anger or contempt, not his joy or sadness. 

A glow of pleasure built between them, promising to become something more. Obi-wan felt his heart sing with vindication. Too long he’d told himself he’d eventually grow out of his childish crush. Even as his feelings grew deeper and more permanent, he willed himself to believe it. 

In that moment he knew he would never feel differently. He didn’t think Qui-gon’s feelings for him would ever lessen, either. He assumed this was as indelible for his Master as it was for him. Thinking otherwise makes him feel cheapened, makes him feel shame for what he so openly bared. And even if he doesn’t remember, that almost makes it worse. 

Qui-gon  _ wanted  _ him badly. While unburdened by many Jedi traditions and customs, he was a reserved man. It was rare to ever feel overindulged by his attention. Many times Obi-wan felt invisible in his presence, but not in that moment. He’d never felt so seen, so needed or loved. 

_ Cherished,  _ by the way his signature sank against his skin, feeling every part of him in one overwhelming embrace.  _ Devoured _ \- Obi-wan felt the need to have and consume, to feel, touch,  _ take.  _ Yes, Qui-gon wanted him. His Master could barely restrain himself.

_ They will change, fade, become forgotten. _

Did his Master really mean those things? 

He certainly didn’t have to beg for Jinn to undress him, to lay him down on the mattress and feel all the contours of his body. He remembers waiting there for his Master to  _ really  _ touch him, legs willingly spread, his breath pulling in short, shallow heaves. 

When Qui-gon’s hand finally wandered lower, gently wrapping around his weeping, throbbing girth, he couldn’t keep the startled cry from leaving his lips. The pleasure was bracing, lighting up every nerve in his body with vivid sensation. He gazed up with weak, lidded eyes into his Master’s hungry stare, totally surrendered to his will.

The hand firmed, slowly working him with a tortured rhythm meant to draw whimpers, which it certainly did. Obi-wan grabbed a fist of sheets in one hand, clawing into Jinn’s shoulder with the other as his body writhed, his hips twitching up into his Master’s grip. 

He came undone in a matter of seconds, twisting and arching his back as he spilled. Despite it a hollow ached in his belly, craving to be filled as slick dripped between his thighs, soaking into the sheets. A tremor ran through him at the thought of what he wanted so badly, nearly too scared to ask with words. Instead, his hands clawed at the man’s flesh, with trembling, sweaty palms.

He’d envisioned this hundreds of times over in the darkness of his own quarters, covers drawn overhead, stifled by his own rapid breath. He’d crafted strings of words, poetic truths never transcribed onto flimsiplast for the sake of his own embarrassment, but they’d been carved inside him all the same. In that moment he couldn’t muster a single word or plea but with his hands, his eyes and body he begged with every fiber of his being. Any Alpha would have known the meaning of it, he knew his Master did. 

Qui-gon's eyes were locked on him, blown and feral, only the thinnest string of restraint pulling through. 

The memory is the worst kind of poison. 

For how ravenous he was, skewed by the chemicals that Obi-wan was starting to scent off the man’s skin, Jinn was patient and gentle when he took him. Pliant in his wanting, he felt himself stretch around the head of his Master’s cock with relative ease. Jinn tested the tight ring of muscle, tugging the edge of his tip against his rim with a satisfied humm rumbling low in his chest. 

Obi-wan struggled to familiarize himself with the sensation as he peered up at the man shyly, his lip caught tightly between his teeth as he focused. He felt his body struggle and pulse around him, desperately trying to accommodate. There was the vague discomfort of being stretched so far, it burned but he felt the hollow inside him still wanting. He needed more of him,  _ all  _ of him. 

Jinn eased in slowly, careful and patient till he was fully sheathed inside. Obi-wan pressed his body into his Master’s, the hollow of his belly throbbing in its fullness. His hips twitched as Jinn pulsed with shallow thrusts, his knot swelling slightly as his pleasure grew. He shivered, knowing how it would fill and stretch him further. The thought glowed warm inside his belly, pulsing with every pump of his Master’s cock. 

Obi-wan angled his hips, encouraging Jinn to fuck into him harder. A shiver ran down his spine and gooseflesh prickled down his limbs as he felt his Master’s hips flat against him, draw back, and press against him again. And again. And again. 

His pace became ragged, desperate and stuttered as Jinn’s head hung over his shoulder, his hands wrapping around his shoulders to anchor him. Obi-wan pulled up his knees, his feet pointed and toes curled as his hands drug down Jinn’s back to hold at his waist, greedily drawing him in harder and faster. 

Qui-gon’s signature overwhelmed their bond, coiled tightly around his consciousness, chased every spark of pleasure that bloomed inside him. Obi-wan opened himself to it, lowered his shields completely and Qui-gon flooded him. He felt the Alpha’s base hunger consume both of them and shivered when Jinn’s tongue drug over his gland. He grabbed a fist of Jinn’s hair as he began to suck on his neck, his teeth gently gnawing and teasing over it. 

Obi-wan was shaking, euphoric as he waited, silently begging for his Master to mark him. Warmth crept over every inch of his skin and his body felt light in anticipation as Jinn’s teeth bared down harder, just shy of breaking skin. His hand holds there now, under the angle of his jaw, remembering the stamp of his Master’s teeth that was a high all on its own. 

Jinn slammed his hips against him one last time, snarling as his knot took, spilling deep inside him. Obi-wan felt warmth in his belly as his Master’s seed filled him. With a shaky hand he reached down and stroked himself to completion, feeling his body clamp down on his Master’s cock, milking him for more of his cum as his own spurted in his hand and onto his belly. 

Qui-gon laid there inside him, licking behind his ear, his teeth biting the lower edge of Obi-wan’s lip and pulling him into another long, wanting kiss. Each time Jinn’s weight shifted on top of him his knot coaxed Obi-wan’s arousal, and every time Jinn obliged. His strong hand would grip around his wet cock and pull another orgasm from his tired body, making him pulse and writhe around Qui-gon’s girth filling him with more seed.

By the time Jinn’s knot deflated Obi-wan’s body was shaking with exhaustion. Now he’s shaking from restraint, withholding his anger and desperation that he’s been told he ought to let go of. All he wants is to find balance. He doesn’t know how to find it. 

A broad hand falls gently on his shoulder and Obi-wan closes his eyes, fending off the memory of how they felt against his skin, undressing him and laying him on the mattress, gentle yet strong as they felt every part of him. 

“Are you alright, Padawan?” Qui-gon asks, his voice brimming with concern. 

It’s been that way ever since the incident on Coruscant. Only two days have passed and Qui-gon’s worry has been unabated ever since. It is beginning to wear on Obi-wan’s resolve in every way that it can. 

“I’m fine,” Obi-wan mutters, wiping quickly at his eyes as he sits on the bench near the viewport, watching the landscape rush by them as the train wound itself through majestic, tree-covered mountains that seem as beautiful as they are treacherous. 

Qui-gon positions himself to sit across from him, his gaze burning right through him. His head is full of questions that Obi-wan knows he won’t allow himself to ask. He can feel the gist of them through their bond, and chooses to ignore them.

“You’re thinking about what happened with Bruck-” Qui-gon starts, and Obi-wan cuts him off. 

“I’m thinking about a lot of things,” he says, searching out the viewport as if there were something very important to find there.

Qui-gon lingers in their bond, inviting him silently for a few moments before pressing in on him. Obi-wan closes his eyes and breathes deep, thinking briefly to deny his Master before relenting to him, letting their signatures tangle together.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Obi-wan mumbles, feeling Jinn’s presence ease him as it twines with his own. It is a practice that they’d rarely indulged in the past though it had been a source of comfort when Obi-wan had needed it throughout the years. He only now realizes that it was of equal comfort to his Master, too. 

It’s impossible to keep all of his emotions at bay when their signatures are twisted up like this. His Master also fails to hide the extent of his own feelings, although he swore solemnly they would be as transient as a passing storm. Obi-wan still wonders if he truly believes it. 

“But it helps soothe you,” Jinn protests, his aura wrapping around Obi-wan’s jealousy. 

“Being around you is hard enough, Master. Feeling you like this is…” Obi-wan musters, exhaling a shuddered breath as he pulls in another. 

Conflict brews in Jinn for a moment before he releases his hold. Obi-wan’s gaze lowers to his own fists tightly held in his lap. His face burns red, feeling the involuntary ache that begs inside of him, smelling the subtle scent that beckons his Master to claim- the scent that now every Alpha in this section of the train would be able to smell, too. 

Master Yoda thought a mission would do them both some good, get them out of the temple and away from the gossip that would run its course in a week or so. He didn’t protest it though he certainly had his reservations. He knows Qui-gon is glad for the change in scenery but Obi-wan finds it difficult to be glad for  _ anything _ . 

Suddenly Obi-wan feels eyes on him as the car fills with the smell of Alphas responding to his own faint scent. His face burns brighter and he wishes he could just disappear. It’s been a familiar feeling as of late.

“Why don’t we go outside and get some air, hm?” Qui-gon suggests as he stands, noticing the gaze of others fix on both of them. 

Obi-wan wordlessly follows, trying his best to ignore the increasingly stifling aroma of roused Alphas building in the cabin. When they make it to the back of the car without any issues Obi-wan lets out a breath of relief. The doors slide away and both of them step out into the ripping breeze of the train’s wake. He can see Qui-gon take a deep, cleansing breath of the crisp mountain air, his long silver hair whipping back behind him in thick ribbons. His eyes are closed, the biting arctic wind turning the apples of his cheeks and nose a rosy pink. 

The force pools around Qui-gon as he joins it, stretching out his awareness as far as he can in all directions as he centers himself in its pureness. Obi-wan merges with it as well, using it to still his mind. He feels all the living beings and creatures surrounding him, feels their life force like glowing pinpricks, stars scattered everywhere throughout the mountains, in the train that snakes its way through their rocky peaks. It is beautiful.

But then there is Qui-gon, a brilliant, blinding beam of light, striking to behold. Obi-wan feels the man’s restless heart reach for the light to dispel its anguish, to still the chattering that incessantly gnaws at the back of his mind. A strand of darkness untangles from his heart and flies out from him, lost in the wind amongst the trees that rush by them. 

“I’m sorry, Obi-wan,” Jinn sighs, melancholy painting over his strong features making him look sad. “I’ve been selfish. There is no excuse for my actions.”

Obi-wan’s gut ties into knots of self-blame and dread. “You were right when you told me you were to request another Master,” Jinn says carefully, darkly. 

“I didn’t mean what I said, I was just angry-” Obi-wan starts, panic stirring inside of him. Jinn cuts him off. 

“I should have insisted on it myself. I didn’t because the thought of having you taken away from me was too much to bear. It still is,” Qui-gon turns to face him, his blue eyes fierce. 

“I know it’s the right thing to do,” he nearly whispers. Obi-wan suspects he’s holding back tears. 

“Master, please I’m sorry I didn’t mean it,” Obi-wan begs, nearly reduced to tears himself. 

He wants to find balance in the presence of his Master, he doesn’t know how. He can’t stand the closeness, he can’t bear the thought of not being by his side. Whether that’s as an apprentice or something more, it doesn’t matter. By his side is exactly where he’s supposed to be, he can feel it in his bones. 

“I can’t deny the state of my own heart, Obi-wan,” Jinn says gravely. “I may have no recollection of what happened between us but the way I feel about you is…  _ dangerous, _ ” he says quietly, shame eclipsing his sapphire eyes. 

“You said we would both forget about it in time, that our feelings would change,” Obi-wan insisted. “We can just wait, it will be over and none of this will even matter anymore,” he begs, vision hazed with stinging tears. 

“I lied. I can’t keep willfully ignorant about my own feelings without hurting you in the process. I won’t do it,” he vows. 

Obi-wan is struck silent. He’s half elated, half horrified. Jinn really does love him. He’s willing to leave him because of it, no matter the cost. 

“After we return to Coruscant, I will tell the Council the truth about everything that’s happened. It’s the right thing to do.” 

“You’ll be suspended from the order, or  _ expelled,  _ maybe even worse. Please, Master, don’t do this,” Obi-wan pleads shamelessly. 

“Whatever befalls me is what I deserve,” Qui-gon answers unflinchingly. 

“And what about me?” Obi-wan cries, “Who else will take on an Omega Padawan? I’m already a joke to the entire Order.” 

“I will make arrangements,” Jinn says, as if he’s already thought this through.

“Please, Master,  _ no,”  _ Obi-wan sobs, wiping ice-cold tears off his face. 

Qui-gon’s hands drape on either shoulder as he looks at him with grave sincerity. “Obi-wan, you must trust that the living force has its will, and that whatever happens, we’re just playing our part in that design,” he says warmly, as if it is something to take solace in.

All Obi-wan can think about is losing his Master. If they lose each other, they lose everything. They quite literally held each other’s futures in their hands. Qui-gon was about to cast his own future out without a thought of anything but his own redemption. Even in atonement he was selfish, Obi-wan thinks with a sneer. 

“Now come, we’ve nearly made it to town. The Prince will be eager to meet with us, I’ve been assured,” Jinn speaks with a wave of his hand, painfully casual, as if he hadn’t just gutted Obi-wan right where he stood. 

He might as well have. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!
> 
> I'm attempting to recover from almost 6 months of solid writers block :D  
> Please feel free to dip in with some constructive criticism if you have any to offer, it may help!
> 
> I hope you all have had a great holiday season, and that you are all doing well in the new year. 
> 
> See you again, soon? :P
> 
> Blu3

The palace is grand in all aspects. From its heavy swaths of crimson, velvet drapery inlaid with hand-stitched gold thread that Obi-wan feels certain is the real article, to its expansive marble floors and carefully crafted glass pillars that twist and spiral curiously in oceanic tendrils. Even the servants are decked to the teeth, clad in finely pressed jewel studded garb that makes Obi-wan feel painfully underdressed, granted his plain Jedi robes are not crafted to impress the onlooking eye, but for function instead. 

The beauty of the palace is undeniable, purposefully striking. Despite all its charm he can feel something sinister beneath it, chilling, worming its way under his skin. Obi-wan can’t determine whether the timorous ache he feels originates from his own dread, or from something else. His Jedi training tells him to never discount his instincts, though he knows he’s entirely too preoccupied be able to rely solely on them. Right now, even the force feels distant with his heart and mind in such disarray. 

He doesn’t dare ask for Qui-gon’s insight or guidance. He won’t lean on him anymore, not ever again. His heart is still too freshly razed for him to feel anything other than shock and the vague burden of pain still yet to come. The thought of his Master abandoning him still feels unreal- the ultimate betrayal. His eyes are still sore from crying. 

He tells himself Qui-gon doesn’t deserve the tears he shed over him, but he knows those words are built on lies. Those bitter tears were borne of self-pity alone. Out of fear of loss, but not just of his Master. For the life he knows that is surely dying, that can’t be resuscitated or salvaged. Life is made of moments like those- things that can’t be taken back or changed, words that can’t be unsaid. Choices that cannot be unmade. 

With every moment of silence between them he feels his old life fading away. Perhaps the worst part is simply knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix it. Qui-gon is an impulsive man, and equally decisive. If Obi-wan were any less naive he would have seen this coming, but he always has been detrimentally short-sighted as well as too trusting of those he lets get too close. 

The chill sinks in deeper and his bones feel like ice. He’s nearly positive now that this torment is his alone. The meticulous aesthetic of the palace feels oppressive under the weight of his despair, raking over every insecurity like nails on an open wound.

“Master Jinn!” A voice chimes, tearing Obi-wan from his sullen thoughts to an equally sullen state of awareness. 

“You arrive at last! I hope your journey wasn’t too troublesome?” The prince asks, stepping from his jewel crusted throne and striding over to meet them. “I’ve not seen you since I was a boy, if you remember.” 

The man’s voice is a whine, twisted into musical tones that seem designed to be irksome. His frame is equally thin and tall, almost spindly if not for the scant musculature that clings to his bones. Immediately Obi-wan can’t stand him, though he doesn’t think he could tolerate any company well at the moment. He suspects given the chance he would hardly be able to stand being alone with himself, let alone anyone or anything who might be considered even slightly irksome. 

Surveying the prince, Jinn’s wise eyes glint and narrow with remembrance as he gives that damned smile he offers so easily to all except his own Padawan. A knot twists and aches in his chest as his heart quickens, spurned by his Master's cordiality. Blood-red jealousy coils deep inside him. He doesn’t want to give it power. 

Jinn doesn’t want him, he shouldn’t burn for his attention like this but the snare in his chest is undeniable. Only, instead of feeling the sweet presence of another, he’s forced to suffer the company of his own spiteful, lonely soul instead. How can he mean so much and yet so little to his Master, all at the same time? 

Obi-wan isn’t surprised by the anger he feels rising inside him, but he is surprised by the lack of shame or apology he feels for it. Right now it feels utterly righteous no matter how misaligned from the code it is. It's only natural for rage to bloom from the seed of a scorned heart. 

It’s unusual for Obi-wan to allow such things to exist within himself without attempting to weed them out, but he can hardly care to give it a second thought. He’s not to hold the rank of Padawan for much longer after all, and never the rank of Knight or Master it seems. What should the code be to him at all? 

“I remember. It is good to see you again, Prince Sewell,” Jinn bows, and Obi-wan reluctantly reciprocates the gesture only a moment behind. Surely the Prince hadn’t noted the delay but he knows Jinn did. All his life he’d chased this man's approval, but now he can’t find it in himself to even try to attain such a pointless, fleeting thing. The thought of gaining even a look of disappointment pushes a warmth through his veins, bolstering his new-found anger. 

“And  _ what  _ is this lovely creature?” The Prince asks, his gaze firmly fixing itself on Obi-wan’s frame, studying every inch of him as if here were to be the man’s next meal. Most are not so blatant, but unwelcome stares are something all Omegas become accustomed to over time. Obi-wan is hardly an exception. 

There’s a treacherous pull between disgust and grim satisfaction that almost tugs a smug grin onto his face as Qui-gon’s aura tilts darkly for the Prince’s undue interest. For the sake of his own dignity, he suppresses it. Even the smallest hint that the Prince’s attention is welcome will be taken as an invitation, and that is the last thing he needs. In Obi-wan’s experience, royal brats do not easily accept no for an answer when they have become so accustomed to always getting what they want. 

“This is my Padawan, Obi-wan Kenobi,” Jinn nearly growls, all pleasantries exhausted. 

“A Jedi Omega? I’ve never heard of such a thing before. How very  _ interesting…. _ ” The Prince trails off, distracted by his own curiosity while completely oblivious, either willfully or not, to Qui-gon’s shift in mood. 

“I think it’s best if we get straight to business, I’m sure you understand,” Jinn says coolly, his blue eyes blazing through the Prince’s wayward stare. While being a Jedi first, Qui-gon is also an Alpha with a powerful presence. The command in his aura is effortless and not typically contested. He’s also poorly versed in the art of subtlety. Obi-wan is sure his Master hasn’t noticed the thick, animalistic tension between the three of them, or his role in perpetuating it.

The Prince gives Obi-wan one last wanting look before he pries his eyes away. “Of course, of course, though I’m afraid you’re a little deficient with an Omega at your side,” he shrugs. 

Jinn’s shoulders square as his arms cross over his broad chest. “You’ll have to elaborate, I don’t think I catch your meaning.” 

Obi-wan feels a misplaced spark of delight for his Master’s indignation towards the Prince’s remark. He is used to such things for how commonplace they have become. He’s spent his whole life trying to justify his existence in a galaxy run by Alphas. However patronizing and unnecessary such shows of primacy are on Jinn’s part, not to mention completely forbidden by the Code, Obi-wan can’t help but be stirred by it. As much as Jinn is swayed by his own primal instinct, Obi-wan is as well. 

The fleeting euphoria dies just as quickly leaving a much more bitter than sweet taste in his mouth. It's utterly defeating, being betrayed by himself so easily. Jinn’s frustration, vexation, pleasure, should be meaningless to him. If nothing else he wants to feel vindication for his disfavor. Right now that booming, demanding voice, brimming with expectation and authority while defending his own virtue, brings Obi-wan to his knees again.

A frustratingly thin line separates rage from desperation, but both are heedless and will certainly cause more harm than good, not that he can bring himself to care much for the fact. Both in anger and the desperate throes of want he’s caught in the man’s orbit, sinking deeper with every passing moment. It’s weakness in all its forms, from bliss and rage and sullen despair. Grief is the most burdensome, knowing that nothing he can say or do will change anything. Simply by giving himself at all he’d sealed his own fate. 

“Truly, I don’t mean to offend, I only mean to say that in royal court it is against the law for Omegas to serve in any capacity,” The Prince sighs in disappointment, turning back to collapse into his jewel studded throne, seemingly oblivious to Jinn’s mien. 

“To allow an exception would not be well received, and would undermine exactly what I brought you here to do.” 

“You might have thought to specify your needs to the Council before you sent for aid,” Jinn snaps back, keeping the brunt of his frustration from straying too far from his tongue. The anger he feels quickly dissipates into the force as he focuses his efforts on objectivity over emotion, appearing near to effortless in the practice. 

Already Obi-wan can hear the silent lecture in his mind, Jinn scolding him for being so easily stunted by matters of the heart. For being weak, for letting his emotions get the best of him. For ever accepting a single kiss from his inebriated lips let alone anything from his body or soul. Jinn makes letting go of it all look so easy, bleeding all undesirable things off into the ether as if they were things that could simply be wished away. 

Deciding to end their apprenticeship must have been just as simple. A cold, calculated measure for practical purposes. Cleave emotions from the man, and a man is all that is left. That is what his Master is, what a Jedi is meant to become. Just a shell, an empty husk with anything resembling a soul forcibly removed. 

“We can return to Coruscant and send a more adequately equipped pair instead if that would suit your purpose better.” 

Jinn has nearly calmed himself completely, at least on the surface. Obi-wan feels more unrest than ever, slipping further from anger to the depths of despair with every second that passes. With every reprimand he hears Jinn whisper from his own thoughts he falls further into the fathomless chasm inside his chest. Climbing out just feels too tedious. He’s too tired to try. 

“Oh, no need, no need,” The Prince answers, shaking his head. “I’m sure you are competent enough all on your own, beastly thing that you are. Besides, there’s no time to call for a replacement. The trial is to take place tomorrow and one Jedi is better than none at all. You will watch over the proceedings and keep an eye out for any possible interference.” 

“You anticipate trouble with the trial?”

“Why else would I have sent for you?  _ Yes, _ I anticipate  _ trouble _ . One of my Father’s servants is suspected of espionage. The rebel group to blame is insignificant, I assure you-” 

“If they have a spy in the royal court they hardly sound insignificant,” Jinn prodded. “If you suspect one, it’s likely that there are more.” 

“Your speculation is  _ cumbersome _ , Master Jedi,” the Prince moans, rubbing at his brow warily. 

“I just need you to guard the proceedings and keep on the look out for anything suspicious without drawing attention to yourself. People must not be alerted to your presence or else the rebellion’s resolve with strengthen. If they think I cannot handle this I will look weak.” 

The Prince sighs heavily, his mood shifting as his eyes settle on Obi-wan again, falling just above the collar of his tunic. This time he finds himself less amused for his Master’s worsening temper towards the Prince’s forward stare, and quickly declining in patience himself. Sorrow melts to anger under his gaze, Obi-wan grabs a hold of it with all his might, finding it preferable to the alternative. 

“And  _ you  _ will have to stay out of sight, my sweet. If anyone were to notice that pretty virgin décolleté of yours, the outcome would be very undesirable.” 

“I can assure you I’ve dealt with my fair share of overreaching Alphas,” Obi-wan snaps back. He won't stand to be threatened. He feels Qui-gon’s disapproval and disregards it, contesting the Prince’s stare fiercely with his own. Finally, he’s found a target for at least some of the pent-up unrest boiling inside him. 

The Prince grins, a twinkle in his eye- half apology half utterly enthralled to gain such a response from him at all. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, you misunderstand. The presence of an unmarked Omega in the palace is forbidden, and punishable by law. The most lenient sentences involve branding the offender. I’ve seen others publicly rutted and even killed. I would never want any such thing to befall you, my dear. You’ll be safe in one of my guest rooms here. Of course even with that there is some risk, but since I cannot chance word getting out that Jedi are with us, it’s a risk that must be taken.”

“How  _ generous  _ of you,” Obi-wan sneers. 

“Don’t fret, there will be no trouble at all since no one will know you are here,” the Prince assures, an overly friendly smile pulling tight at the edges of his face. 

A sick tug in his stomach tells him he’s given in to the Prince’s chase. He’s caught the man’s attention and not at all for the better. It’s regrettable, but Obi-wan is well past taking veiled threats with a dolce smile. 

“It’s hardly a stretch of the imagination to see how a resistance group could gain traction with such barbaric laws upheld by the ruling crown,” Obi-wan taunts, gaining a severe look from his Master. His anger shields him from feeling the weight of his fear and sorrow for now, but he knows it will only hold him for so long. 

“These laws are barbaric, I will be the first to admit, but the crown has nothing to do with legal and judicial matters. These laws were made by our people. I’m afraid I’m as helpless to them as you are.” 

Another string of insults are ripe on Obi-wan’s tongue before Jinn claps a firm hand on his shoulder, almost painfully. “We are not here to interfere with your politics. Obi-wan will remain out of sight as you say,” Jinn promises. 

“If he does as I say, there’s nothing to worry about. The trial will only take a few days at most, then you both can be on your way!” The Prince booms happily. 

No, no trouble at all.  _ I’ll just be held prisoner till we can get a transport off this rock,  _ Obi-wan broods silently. 

“Well then, there should be no trouble at all,” Jinn says grimly, the hint of sarcasm in his voice undetectable to the Prince’s notice, as most else seemed to be. 

The anger he feels is fading by the time they are shown to their quarters. Right now he’s crashing. His heart prattles behind his ribs as the servants that tended their room leave, closing tall wooden doors behind them. The soft  _ click  _ of the latch echoes in his ears as he waits for the inevitable lecture, for the list of things he’s done wrong and all the countless ways he’s disappointed his Master. 

It’s shameful, but Obi-wan knows he was only misbehaving for attention. Minutes go by as Jinn sits in meditation at the foot of his sleeper, shed of his boots and belt for comfort. The lack of response disheartens him, turning his darker anxieties into a quickening panic. 

Has Jinn really given up on him so completely? Obi-wan opens his mind, not to reach but to feel the bond that exists between them. He’s been trying to keep his Master out for so long, trying to gain some much needed distance to gain some perspective. Right now their bond is more than treacherous- it’s silent.

Shakily he tears down the walls he’s built, designed to keep the man at bay through his ceaseless prodding and hovering. He finds no whispers, no warnings, no gentle touches to reassure him. Obi-wan can’t feel a single thing from him. He can barely feel Jinn’s presence in the room. His heart slams against his ribs, stealing breath from his lungs as fear overwhelms him. 

Now, in this damned silence, Obi-wan begins to feel the gravity of Jinn’s absence. This is how it happens. It’s already happened- their bond has dissipated into nothing. Obi-wan can barely sense where it was. The only thing he feels is the searing ache in his chest that his Master left when he crushed him. Obi-wan feels like it will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

There can be only one of two realities for him, he knows it in his heart. There can be life at Qui-gon Jinn’s side, or there can be pain and anguish. Right now he feels both, and seeing his Master with his eyes and not feeling a single drift of his presence carves a hollow in his chest that he can’t quite explain. 

He attempts to reach for the force to find some measure of relief, but it won’t touch him. Just like his Master, it would seem, the light won’t have him either. He’s never felt so utterly alone. 

Tears sting at his eyes, but he can’t give in to them, not with Jinn only meters away from him. They crush him till he feels like he can’t breathe but he still holds out in his own sorry attempt at meditation, clinging to sheer composure to keep himself from falling apart and sobbing himself to sleep. 

“Obi-wan,” Qui-gon’s voice calls, cutting through the thick silence that’s been brewing between them. 

Obi-wan can’t speak, can’t control the shameful torrent of things that would escape him if he did. His fists clench tight in his lap as he tries harder to throw himself into meditation, into the force that’s slowed to a trickle in his aura. 

“I know you are suffering, Obi-wan,” he says softly, hurt clear in his words though Obi-wan can only feel bitterness for it. 

“I know you are angry with me. You have every right to be.” 

The soft words are almost worse than the lecture Obi-wan anticipated. Something boils over inside him, tearing his inhibitions down and replacing each insecurity with a jagged blade to use on himself or anyone else who is close enough to bleed. 

“Regardless of how you feel about me right now, I need you to be objective. I need your help with this mission. Things aren’t what they seem-” Qui-gon nearly entreats. Obi-wan can feel the heartfelt sincerity in his words but can’t feel moved by them. 

“You don’t need anything from me, I think you’ve made that quite clear,” Obi-wan bit out, surprised by his own veracity. Qui-gon already took everything he needed from him. What else was there for him to use? 

Jinn takes a pause of irritable silence. The man was never well practiced in patience and Obi-wan knows that after the day they've had, his Master’s has already run dangerously thin. 

“Obi-wan, I know you are angry with me but letting your emotions get the better of you is to both our detriment. Don’t you see that?” Qui-gon pleads, his words piercing through him with all the grace of a dulled blade. 

He can hardly think, but inside he’s screaming. Somehow Jinn still manages to blame him without placing a single fault on him outright. Not that Obi-wan hadn’t internalized that blame to begin with. He’s always blamed himself for not trying harder to resist his Master’s advances, but hearing those words roll off of Jinn’s tongue twists the knife even deeper than before. 

“Perhaps you should think twice before lecturing me on the value of premeditated action, dear Master,” Obi-wan sneers, wrathful tears stinging his eyes. Of course it’s always his fault when emotion overpowers logic, no matter what lapse in judgment may have occurred on Jinn’s behalf. 

A push of satisfaction surges through his veins as Qui-gon’s expression registers the hit as his words tear through him, just as they were meant to.

“I never claimed to be without fault,” Jinn says gravely, “but do not torment me with what I cannot change.” 

“Torment you?” Obi-wan laughs incredulously, feeling himself break. “What do you think it is for me, every moment I’m forced to go on, knowing my future is dead and gone because you’ve decided it’s easier to throw me away than to live with your mistakes?!” 

“But no, I should be mindful of your feelings. I do wonder what it was you felt when you decided I was nothing. Or was I ever anything to you at all?” 

Jinn sits, unresponsive to all query. Shutting him out again, just like he had before and just like he will permanently the moment they return to Coruscant. 

“No, I never was. I was just a tool to you, nothing more.”

Qui-gon rises from the foot of his sleeper, stepping into his boots and fastening his belt around his tunic. Looking at the clock, it’s nearly midnight. Clearly, his Master has business elsewhere. 

“Go ahead, crawl to whatever cantina you can find, and when you’ve had your fill of drink and spice, find someone else to fuck.” 

Mere paces from the door Jinn turns on his heel and storms over till he’s only inches away from him. Obi-wan can’t recall a single time he’s seen him this angry at him, or anyone else. He might have felt intimidated or even slightly scared were he not so callously brash. The primal Omega part of himself begs to cower and yield, but he ignores the reflex. 

Jinn’s chest rises and falls as he heaves for breath, nostrils flared and his mouth in a tight, stern frown. “You will not speak to me in such a way, I am still your Master," he growls. 

Obi-wan stands chest to chest, feeling the fury of Jinn’s racing heart slam against his ribs. A surge of adrenaline floods his veins, making his palms tremble. “I’m not a Jedi anymore, I have no Master. You’ve seen to that.” 

Obi-wan can see a flash of unspoken, angry words pulse behind Qui-gon’s eyes before he storms out, the tall wooden doors slamming against the frame behind him as he leaves. The emptiness that takes hold in his wake is gripping, and Obi-wan doubts either of them will be getting any sleep tonight. 


End file.
